


Dripping Ebony & Grinning Ivory

by KunstlerinAlora



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Blood and Injury, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Mild Gore, Soulmates, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25433908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KunstlerinAlora/pseuds/KunstlerinAlora
Summary: You walk down the career of a professional detective who is in need of a profiler. A commission has been taken on by you alone - the almost untracable dissapearance of a man named Henry Stein. You research alone in your apartment, your parents deceased and no relatives to bother you, trying to find out as much as you can about this man, when you come across the ruins of a once thriving animation studio. Down in the depths of the decaying building, you find something reflecting light, and, upon further inspection, find a pendant and a note.A strange temptation takes over you and you put on the pendant, and it changes your life. Interesting? Terrifying? You haven't got the faintest clue. One thing you do know? You have a profiler now, and he may be the best partner you've got, and your best chance at tracking down a triple count serial killer whose victim count only seems to grow in numbers.
Relationships: "Bendy" | Ink Bendy/Reader, Bendy (Bendy and the Ink Machine)/Reader, Henry Stein/Linda Stein
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

Another day with the sound of printing paper and pouring coffee mugs driving your auditory senses crazy.

People are seldom chatting as others focus on their work. You are just one at your desk, a body of no sleep and physical sadness. From what you can recall, you did not grab anything to eat this morning, so as consequence, your stomach groans at you every now and then as you feel almost unbearably empty.

At the moment, you are preoccupied with some paper work and lending a helping hand to your boss, since there are not really many cases up for grabs right now, especially with the coworkers of this place who go and snatch all the cases, with commission money in their eyes and big grins on their faces. Though, this is Brooklyn, New York, so there are bound to be more to pop up. Crime manifests itself on the monthly, sometimes weekly, if the lot of you are lucky. Except for when the FBI pokes their head in and decides they are the only one for the job.

Honestly, they have good people and all, but sometimes you wish they would just shove it and piss off. You practically live and drown in your work for a reason, emersing your life within it, taking it home with you, and maybe even taking your home to work. It is kind of insulting that they think that you and the rest of the Brooklyn NYPD can not handle things yourselves.

Your face twitches as you hear familiar footsteps that interrupt your train of thought.

"Hey! _______," you internally groan as your brain dies a bit, "what's goin' on? Any new cases?" You quietly scoff, trying to make it seem like he is not bothering you to the best of your ability.

"If there were any new cases, everybody would be flocking around Judy." Judy is, you guessed it, your boss. She announces when new cases pop up, basically holds out the files expectantly, and then people eat it up straight from her hands. She is of medium height for a woman of her age, in her mid-thirties, and dresses plainly yet sharply, going with her entire demeanor. She is a very straightforward black woman with a great intuition that has almost never steered her wrong, which sometimes leaves you to wonder why she has not taken a position like yours herself. Sometimes, you envy her when you are not busy looking up to her.

"Well," here it comes, "that means you are open, right? Funny, I'm open too. How about we get a drink or somethin'?"

"Go do your job _. I'm not interested_." Of course, you have said this multiple times and he has continued to harass you while you are trying to work. At one point you and him made eye contact at Walmart, and he gave you hell. There you had to get crafty and loose him because you were afraid of him following you to your vehicle just a sliver, though probably unwarranted since you are paranoid and he is not that low. Of course, you can handle it - nothing to bother Judy about, it just drains you is all.

"Well, I have an important case to attend to anyway." He waves the files for the triple count serial killer around. You have been wanting a case like that for ages now. However, you are not going to bend over to Derrel for any reason, no matter what that reason may be.

"Alright. Why don't you go work on the case instead of pestering your coworkers then? Wouldn't want Judy to know that you aren't actually working on it and give it to someone who cares, like me, now would you?" His cocky grin drops lowly.

"Sure. Like you'd do that anyway." The tall and peached skin embodiment of a highschool jock blonde walks off and you smirk victoriously. Boy, do you love putting him in his place.

He is the most annoying man you have ever had the misfortune of dealing with. He constantly asks you the same questions over and over, clinks his stupid ink pen collection around in his ugly mug with the words "Best Coworker" scrawled onto it very obviously in sharpie, and never knows how to turn his ranting mouth off.

You are sure you are the only female coworker he has harassed, since last time he tried to take on someone he got a warning from Judy, and the kiss-ass bootlicker hates being lectured by his boss. Too bad you can not just tell Judy of his lack of progress, considering almost everyone here wanted that case and it would make you seem as if you were just trying to get it for yourself.

Another set of footsteps click towards your direction. A small part of you expects it to be Derrel again, but even he is not that stupid as to come back after getting his ass served on a silver platter. Why does everybody want to talk to you today anyway?

"______?" It is Angela this time. Your muscles untense and unfold at the sight of her, rather than the blonde you have grown to resent.

"Hmm?" You look up at her baby blue eyes. She has her braided, long brown hair draping over her right shoulder, her pale peach skin matching her attire. You wonder if Derrel has tried going after her yet, and if he has not, is he crazy or just targeting you specifically? She is literally the whole package - pretty, sweet, and sharp minded.

"Judy wants you. I think it's important." She glances to the right absentmindedly, seemingly thinking about something as her eyes seem to wander off into space as does her mind.

Letting out a sigh, you get up and respond with, "It's always important if it's Judy. Thanks for telling me." She snaps out of her trance, startled in the slightest.

"Oh, no problem." She mutters.

As you walk away and towards Judy's office across the grey tiled flooring, you wonder about what she would want from you. Maybe Derrel lied about you and tried to get you in trouble or something, though that would be way too quick considering he just got done pestering you just a minute ago. Not that Judy would believe his antics and complaining just like that. You can tell that he sometimes gets on her nerves, what with his unstichable mouth and all. However, he still is of use, so he never gets booted. Surprisingly, he does well in his occupation despite his immature nature.

Coming to the door of her office, you grab hold of the door knob and turn, gently pushing the well oiled and squeak free door open. "Ms. Judy?"

"Come in," she seems to sort through some tan folders and freshly painted papers as she does not meet eye contact. Did you do something wrong? "Take a seat." Now that is some Chris Hansen shit right there. That is it, you are sure you did something wrong now. "We have this new case," you mentally sigh in relief, "and it is of a man who went missing not too long ago. I want you to work on this case for me, since you seem the most capable, given Mr. Derrel's 'busy' assignment. I might have to assign an 'assistant' for him soon."

_Does she know he is slacking off after all?_

"Alright." You almost smirk that the blonde is getting caught not minding his attention span again.

She nods subtly, seemingly appeased, "Good, I expect results very soon, Ms. ________." Sometimes, she reminds you of Amanda from Detroit: Become Human. Not that you have played the game yourself, but denial of the craftsmanship of that game would be insanity, at least from what you have heard and seen. Angela will not keep quiet about the game, as it involves robots, detectives, and robot detectives.

She hands over the classified files and you reach your hand out and grab hold of it, taking it into your own hands. Maybe you should keep this on the low for now, considering people around here are pretty nosy. Especially that empty-headed blonde.

"Don't worry, I won't let you down."

*****

A yawn threatens to climb up your throat, the oil slicks under your eyes and your drowsy body language a huge indication as to why.

There is so little you can do as of now, but you were given exclusive files on the man you are searching for, so that is definitely a big crutch to lean on. What you are working with? Your mediocre laptop, a squeaky desk chair, and the darkness of the room. Apparently, this guy used to work as an animator. His name is Henry Stein, and is married to a woman named Linda, having a little girl back at home. The guy had gone missing for quite some time now, without a trace, which is odd. Perhaps you can try your luck though, and visit this old building that he used to work in as the co-founder of Joey Drew Studios.

You glance at the time and are surprised to see that it is five in the morning. "Holy shit. No wonder I feel like a fucking rock..." You rub a hand through your hair and spin in your chair. "Maybe I could get going? The place is an hour away, though." Your speech slurs slightly as you think out loud. It will suck, having to investigate with little to no sleep, but you have to suck it up.

The quicker you get done, the quicker you get paid, not that that is your generosity mentality, as you do care about accurate results and will take time if need be, but you like to solve things as quickly as time will allow so you can move onto the next. It also feels satisfying to solve a case. Perhaps you'll get lucky and actually find the guy so you can walk away satisfied as you move onto something like the triple death count serial killer. As terrible as it sounds, you think a case like that sounds fun.

_Maybe I could get promoted..._

Maybe.

Getting up, you slip back into your thick layered coat and decently fix your hair into something that stays out of the way. Your keys jingle in the grip of your palms and your eyes sluggishly blink some of the drowsiness away. But what really gets you waking up? Stepping outside when it is currently twenty nine degrees out.

" _Holy shit, it's freezing...!_ " You rub your sleeves and hurry to your car with a hushed adrenaline, unlocking the door to the driver's seat, getting in, and slamming the door shut with only the slightest of relief. You slip the key into the slot and ignite the cold vehicle, and the engine roars as you take off, heading for the abandoned building. This comes as a surprise to you - you would have thought you would need to heat it up first to get it started.

Too bad it is winter. The weather sometimes makes your cases harder than they are supposed to be, which puts you behind. What makes things worse is that you are working alone. For a while now, you have been in need of a partner, especially a profiler. A professional profiler can narrow down suspects with ease, guessing the race, gender, and motives of the guilty just by the simplest information. If you can get your hands on a partner like that, you could be cracking cases left and right and earning so much more money.

As you drive, the heater spits out hot air, warming you up just a bit. What you wouldn't do for a new car...

*****

"Well hello, ominous and abandoned building. Come here often?" You laugh and lightly shake your head as you step through the frozen grass, ice crunching under your feet. Frost bites your fingers and nose as the frozen air discourages you from staying outside any longer than you need to be. Heading inside the worn building, you shriek a bit when you almost fall into a giant hole in the process after opening the squeaky door. "Holy shit-!" Your mouth turns ajar as you look down the pit.

It seems as if it was waiting for the chance to swallow you whole, the deep abyss it leads to staring back as it beckons for you to jump. Your sharp breaths calm back to normal and you chuckle nervously, "Not today, you spawn of poor architectural decisions slash abandoned heap of wood." If there is one thing you can count on, it is your poor taste in quippy remarks.

The air in this building wreaks of chemicals and ink. It has a musty air to it as well as a strange feeling. You stomp your feet, testing the durability of the wood beneath you, looking from where you stand to the other side of the hole. In a moment of pure balls and boldness, or perhaps just handsomely sugar coded stupidity, you make a jump for it. Surprisingly enough, you make that jump with a _**thud**_. Are you not just _full_ of "great" ideas?

"Suck on that, Derrel..." Derrel is the asshole who says you can't handle a real commission that calls for action, and then turns around and hits on you. "Once I get a profiler, I'll make you eat your words, and once I get a guy by my side, I'll make you eat ass..." Imagine if you got both in one guy. Although, that would be extremely unprofessional - working with your spouse. It would be all the more pathetic if he were to flirt with you while you were to be in a relationship.

The wooden boards groan under your boots as the cold nips at your skin, even through the layers of clothing. Perhaps this place was filled with life, once upon a time - a golden age of animation. Now it looks like ink was pissed all over the place with rotting wood saddening the abandoned studio.

An old projector flickers across from you as you make it down and further into the studio. It looks like it wants to play something, but just doesn't have the reel to do it. "Sorry bud," you trudge up to it and pat the top of it, "you're outdated. TV is _way_ better _**and** it has Netflix_." This is not the only sad display of the studio's interior; leaking ink stain the boards as well as big puddles of ink. It seems like a flood of it occurred recently. No wonder the projectioner won't work - it probably got ink all in the knooks and crannies of it. Chairs are knocked over, papers are drenched in the thick black substance, and your nose feels like the smell is going to kill it.

Enough dilly dallying though - you need to look for leads on the missing man's location. Could there possibly still be information on him here? Did he not quit this job decades ago? Yes, yes he did, and there probably is info. Is this still one of the greatest chances you will get on finding him since he is pretty much a ghost to the world? Yes.

However, it seems like finding something on him will not be easy with this place. Everything is in ruins and the putrid smell of chemicals is trying to drive you out, yet you still persist. You have this odd feeling that something important is here. So, you are going to suck it up and help this family find their man of the house and get that commission money so you can move on to the next case, the one that will maybe shit all over Derrel, if you can get a case that is more tricky than his that is. His case is definitely hard to top.

While someone wise would tell you that you do not have to prove anything to him, you still want to rub something in his face so the tables will turn and he will have no right to torment you while you will have all the more reason to torment him.

There are many doors in this place, and most of them are locked. Most every knob has jingled violently within your grip, but to no avail. However, the last thing you thought was wiped from your mind once you saw a particular wall with ink dripping from the ceiling.

" **DREAMS COME TRUE**."

Again, you make another nervous remark, "No they don't. Otherwise, I would be a rich and famous modern Sherlock Holmes sitting in front of a giant flat screen TV with a personal butler at my disposal." You quickly walk away with an amusement grin only to find even more doors, provoking a loud groan to rise out of your throat. It's like a fun-house here, except without the fun, no mirrors, and this is not a house.

It gets even less fun when your foot hits into a pipe on the floor.

" _Motherfucker--_!" You bend down and clench your foot, squeezing your eyes shut from the throbbing pain in your appendage. Even through a boot, a pipe can make you down for the count. However, you have a lot more to worry about when the building groans even louder than you ever have and you hear cracks coming from the walls.

You only got a few seconds to jump out of the way before wood comes crashing down where the pipe was while you leap like a frog forward. " _Holy shit..._ " You throw yourself against a wall, which startles you when you heard another loud noise from above, thinking you had provoked another avalanche of splintered stakes and torn wood, but luckily you realize you did not as you hesitantly sit there and eye the ceiling.

Needless to say, this place is coming down and it just might decide to take you with it. You need to be more careful and aware of your surroundings while you are here. Just find clues and evidence, try not to destroy anything, and get out.

Well, that plan sounds great until you look back to see the pathway is blocked.

You hiss through your pain gritted teeth, " _How lovely_..." Maybe you can find something to break through the debris with. Until then? Explore what is in front of you. While there is a lot of unexplored places you have passed, you feel like what is in front of you holds something more important. You feel drawn to something, but you just do not know what.

Getting up, not without a hiss from your abused appendage, you continue on your way only to be rendered speechless upon entering a giant room. Railing seems to be blocking the fall to the floor below, where you can see tons of barrels across the floor and papers taped to the walls. All of this surrounds a gaping hole in the floor with chains coming out from its abyss. If you thought everything else about this place was ominous, you just got a slap to the face.

 _What kind of animation studio needs this and where the fuck does it lead to?_ You think critically, eyeing the anomaly.

As your eyes scan the area in awe, a glimmer catches your eye from below. Your eye averts to the front of the gaping hole on the floor and you see something glisten. Snapping out of you awe-stricken trance, you position your body and muster the courage to leap over the railing and land on the floor below.

" _Yowch_..." You hiss as your foot complains from the earlier smack when you land on your feet, whether the trip down was high or not. You will live, though.

As you look back up and at the object you came down here for, you smell something putrid and very faint. It does not smell like chemicals....it smells like something else - something organic yet nose wrenching. After you see what caught your attention over here in the first place, you will go and check out that smell.

Your feet pad across the wood as you walk towards the little object before coming to a halt for you to bend down and get a closer look. It is a necklace and a note. The note seems recent, but not too recent - only about a couple days ago recent, maybe even a week, from what you guess. You pick it up first, despite your almost unnatural attraction for the necklace, and read.

It reads, "I'm sorry, Linda. If you have found this, then I am probably dead. You should leave this place, it's not safe. The whole thing is coming down and there are things here that no one should have to witness. Get rid of the necklace any way you can. I love you, and I love our daughter so much. I'm sorry." The writing is loving yet messy, like whoever wrote this was on a deadline, and you are pretty sure you have a solid idea of the man who wrote this - Henry. You would cry just like you would at an abandoned kitten wandering the streets, but you have a job to do.

You look back at the necklace. The pendant is attached to a gold chain - solid and real gold. That is why it seemed to reflect light from afar. The pendant itself is the face of the mascot of this studio - Bendy the Dancing Demon, but more deformed, with ink covering most of its face and a wider, more malicious grin. You do not know why, but you have a very strong and latching urge to put it on, as if your inner tenacity is seeping through your sense of decency and procedure. However, you can not be playing dress up right now - this is evidence. You just do not know how. In the note, he says to get rid of it, but why? Does this piece of jewelry hold some form of infamous value? Maybe superstition?

You can ponder later. Right now, you need to find something to chop up the wood that has fallen and blocked your way out, unless there is an alternate exit. Another thing you need is more evidence, more clues, and to find out where the chains and the big gaping hole leads. Especially the big gaping hole. For now, you think you will just stick to finding the source of that awful and putrid smell.

Resisting the urge to plug your nose, you waft the scent that it picks up on and step around the placing, watching your steps as you try to see where the smell gets stronger. It surely is not ink or chemicals. From what you guess, it could be a dead stray that wandered in here. God, what if it was a human? Your wet boots click against the damaged and discoloured boards beneath you as you sniff around.

_**Click...** _

_**Click...** _

_**Click...** _

_**Click-** _

" _Oh God. It's a stray...at least._ " You were right about the source of the smell with your first guess. At least it was not a human corpse, and not Henry Stein. Before you, hidden among some mighty big and splintered wooden crates, is a decomposing corpse - a fresh corpse. It seems to be a white and typical house cat with some slash marks. Ink stains its fur as the putrid odor emitting from it invades your poor nostrils. Why are there slash marks on this cat's body? "Maybe this is linked with a murderer?" If this cat was brutally killed like this, you don't have much hope for any other living creature that wanders into this studio, whether it be domesticated animal or human.

You reach over to your knapsack and pull out your high-quality photography camera, flicking it on and focusing the lens on the putrid and heart wrenching sight before you. You feel a wave of nausea lightly wash over you. However, you have been trained to act calmly in a situation like this, so it is not anything that you are unable to handle. It may just be a cat, but this decaying corpse is still a revolting sight to bare witness to.

"Well, I guess that's the end of that." You get your stuff back together and look around for something to break passed the collapsed wood with. Obviously, this place is not safe for you to just wander around in alone. There could possibly be an unhinged killer in this building, the place appears to be in the very slow process of caving in, and the chemicals are starting to get to you. You are going to have to call in a team for this, unfortunately. And while there is nothing wrong with getting a little help, because you are searching for a missing man so a wife does not become a widow, you still really wanted to be able to do this all by yourself. However, you are not stubborn to the point of insanity. There is no way you would be able to get a thorough investigation on your own without getting hurt.

Your feet pad away from the decomposing and puss oozing feline with sorrow in your mind. You feel really bad for the poor thing. Maybe after all of this is over you can give it a proper funeral.

...

After looking around aimlessly for a good amount of unknown time, you swallow a lump in your throat and pace around out of nervous habit. Pacing is highly preferred over biting your nails. "Shit, how am I going to get out of here?" Huffing, you pull out your phone in a spark of hope, only to be extreme disappointed when you find that there is zero cell service. Actually, you do not really blame it - this studio is far out of regular society's reach and you are somewhat below ground level at this current moment. Honestly, you should have seen this coming.

You walk over to a nearby chair and sit down while avoiding numerous puddles of ink, letting out a long sigh. The chair feels like torture to your behind. This is literally the stiffest piece of furniture you have ever sat on. However, it is better than nothing. Opening your knapsack once more, you shift your hand around only to meet your touch with the pendant's, your hand brushing up against the gold chaining. Your eyes focus in on the shiny, good chained piece of jewelry. It almost feels as if you are hypnotized, as the urge to put it on pulls on your will.

_Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try it on?_

Agreeing completely with your poor judgement and respect for this possible piece of evidence, you pull it out of your knapsack, and against your better judgement, unhook it and put around your neck before reattaching it with an exaggerated click sound. It fits perfectly - it is if it was meant for you, built for you even.

After a few seconds of basking in this strange piece of jewelry, you attempt to take it off only to be unable to find the hook as your fingers fumble around the gold chaining. Where did it go?

You have no time to ponder these things when you hear shifting. Looking around, your gaze wanders to the floor, where your eyes suddenly to wide at sight before you. On the ground in front of you is an ink puddle...that is moving.

You sit there in shock as you watch puddles of ink from various areas in the room gather into the one before you. You spring yourself out of your seat and quickly pull your loaded glock from out of your leather waist belt and turn off the safety lock on it with haste, raising it to the shifting puddle of thick black ink in front of you before you back away from it slowly.

Something starts to rise from the ink - a figure. Your breathing becomes rapid as your heart pumps like crazy while you try to control yourself and keep from letting your newfound anxiety and fear control you.

Horns, head, smile, shoulders, ribs, spine, bowtie, gloves, tail, and boots. Long arms and long legs with hands big enough to chuck you into a wall from across the room, and clawed, gloved hands big enough to choke you with ease. That is what has just risen from the ink puddle. Your finger trembles on the trigger as you wait for anything, anything, to happen.

Then, something happens.

The creature turns it's head and that is enough to cause you to mentally panic enough to the point where you fire a shot at the creature. The noise is the loudest you have ever heard.

It hits the thing in the chest, but seems to just bounce off, as if it was nothing. Your bullet did not work. The towering figure before you steps towards you, growling lowly for just a second before it practically stomps on over to your shaken form, ink running down its figure. By the time it makes it over to you, you raise your glock to try and take aim to try and scare it and make it believe you have more than one bullet (though you are not allowed to have more than one), only to have your wrist gripped harshly, making you drop your weapon.

 **"I süppøse yõù dīdñ't see whæt happēñed the fīrst tîmë**." You wince under the strong grip of the monster's hand as it leans forward, its ink dripping face moving down to your level as you stare doe-eyed. Its voice sounds a bit distorted, covering an early 1900's accent. Its seemingly perma-grin twitches and falters a bit, but still remains a creepy, toothy smile.

You can not seem to get a single word out as you stand there in silence. It continues to hold you by your now numbing wrist as he has supposedly cut off the blood flow in your hand. The monster huffs and drops you, leaving you to stumble back and fall to the floor, as if it was not towering over your shaken figure enough. Now it looks over your form and stares you down with a glare. The humanoid creature seems to stand by patiently as you take this chance to scramble to your feet and make distance between the two of you.

" **Næmè**..." It stares at your form expectantly, as if awaiting an answer.

"Wha-"

This time, it's voice booms, " _ **What is your n a m e?** "_

You stutter out your name, quite frankly terrified. Your lips are chapped as your mouth is dry, your nose is currently dying from the smell of this place and burning a little from the inside, your wrist has taken on a more purple color - a bruise - while you are about ready to piss yourself. Yeah, you are having a pretty shitty time right now, and it seems as if your brain cannot process the entity before you and how it came into being just a minute or so ago through the most perplexing and unbelievable method in all of history.

It stands there idley for a few more excruciating seconds before stepping towards you, which leads to you being backed into a wall. It does not corner you though, no does it pin you, rather, it grabs you by the wrist again and drags you to the front of the wall with the mini balcony that you jumped from. In a moment of terror, you do not struggle. You figure that not going along with whatever it wants you to do only escalates the situation.

The grinning things seemingly looks back to you and growls, " **Get on**." Confused and scared, you stare at the creature with an indescribable expression. " _ **Get on my back**_." It sighs irritatedly after a few dead seconds of thick tension, grabbing you by the back of your collared button up shirt, ironically resembling a mother feline picking up its kitten. A squeak is let from your throat in response to this, but it seems to fall on deaf ears. Not that the monster seems to have any physical ears, nor anything that resembles a pair of auditory receptors, but it can hear you anyway, that much is obvious, with it asking for your name and what not.

This is not a time to be freaking out. First, you need to establish its motives, which remain unclear to you as of this exact moment.

Your body is held by the collar of your shirt as the tall monstrosity, who then proceeds to jump and claw on to the wooden wall, yanking the two of you up with a single gloved hand, claws having dug deep into the floor boards. You expect any form of pain from the sudden jerk, but you only choke half a second from it holding your collar before you are dropped carelessly back onto the balcony flooring. On the ground, you cough from the sudden air cut off as you recollect yourself physically and mentally.

After having a moment of silence to rejuvenate your senses, you hesitantly stand up. It stops to look at you with that blank look and turns toward the collapsed hallway. In your head, both regions of your brain argue whether or not you should tell the creature that it is blocked off, not that it is guaranteed to listen to you or anything.

The two of you round the corner, only to be met with a big pile of debris blocking the path. For a moment, you mentally revel in the road block's presence, that is until the monster starts slashing at the blockage, wood splitting and flicking towards your direction, making you flinch and turn your head away.

"W-wait..." It may have just been an almost inaudible whisper, but it snaps its head towards your direction.

" **W h a t?"** At his sudden verbal agression, you nearly flinch once more.

"Won't you...uhm, speed up the collapsation o-of the building? Is there not another..uh.. way...?" It stares at you for another noiseless time, ever so subtly and seemingly subconsciously cocking its moon shaped, grinning head.

" **It wøñ't."**

Turning back to what it was doing, it slashes up the broken debris better than you would ever have, especially considering you could not find a instrument of demolishing value around here. The thing you can not believe of all of this is how calm you have been. There is literally a sentient puddle of ink smashing up wood before you, capable of speech, movement, and thought. Assuming it is a he, he does not really seem like he would be one to care for your thoughts, yet he is taking the time to respond to you and drag you around, as well as supposedly trying to get you out of here along with himself. Are you possibly an asset or value to him?

Maybe it is because of the pendant. He did form right after you put it on. Maybe it is tied to him?

Perhaps he has the will to answer questions. Though, after all this, attempting to question him would not be ideal, so you will have to tread lightly. Especially since he seems to have a physical strength beyond you. For fucks sake a bullet bounced off of him, so chances are he can snap you in half like a twig with ease. However, offense and defense are two very different things, although closely tied. Chances are though, just by watching him demolish the raw splintering wood in front of you, he is pretty good with both.

Looking back at the crumbling rubble, he finally slashes it down to just a dusty and splintering pile of wood. Walking over that will probably hurt quite a bit if you are not careful.

His tail twitches before he steps over the debris pile, wood crunching under his weight. You follow suit, doing the same with more care. Pursing this monstrosity has you on edge, yet you follow after it anyway, knowing that it would be pretty pissed and would probably just out run you if you tried bolting off. You have never seen such a capable being before, so you should not underestimate its speed either. You need to start taking physical notes rather than just mental notes if you are going to start speculating like this.

Following behind the tall creature of ink, your eyes seem to do a second wandering of the place; the creaky board, the rotting wood, the staining ink, the putrid smells. His tail seems to sway behind him as he seems to pay no attention to these things. He seems to gaze at the beaten metal door for a few seconds though, before turning away and moving on. His feet, appearingly boots or tap shoes of some kind, click across the rotting floor. You just hope the ground beneath you does not give out, as seen with the gaping hole at the entrance.

The area around you somewhat feels less eerie with another presence near you, yet you get the feeling of something bad lurking about. Sometimes, you bite your lip at your intuition, and this is one of those times as you swallow hard a lump in your throat, locks of your hair dangling a bit in front of your face as you lower your head.

The two of you pass by all those doors you tried to jingle open with fail. All those loose boards and stains on the wall seem to be passed by you, this time with another figure with whom you are tailing. You can not tell if it is cold or murky in this place, for different areas seem to have different minds on temperature. Maybe it just depends on how deep underground and deeper into the studio you go.

After a bit of walking through jet black puddles, the substance oozing through the boards and leaking from the ceiling above as dripping noises ring out from the silent and moist atmosphere, the two of you pass the writing on the wall, all dried up and glaring at the two of you. He seems to glare back at the words with a snarl as his grin twitches at the edges and his tail ceases movement.

After a few moments of him seething through teeth, and you awkwardly standing and waiting behind, he picks up his feet again as do you. At least through all of this, you have not broken or dropped any of your possessions...

Wait.

Yes you did...

_Your glock._

_Shit, Judy is so going to kill me._ You audibly wince, which makes the tall behemoth in front of you glance back at your form, which in return leads to you averting your gaze as you try to pretend you did not say anything. He knows though, he knows it was you. Who else would it be?

" **What**?" He snarls. You give no response as the two of you continue to walk. From your peripheral vision, you see him glance down at your bruised wrist for a few seconds, as if taking mental note, before turning his head once more. You are sure it is safe to say that he is a he, given the masculine body structure and voice. What even is he? Why does he want you to follow him?

The questions buzzing in your head all cease when the two of you arrive at the entrance of the studio. The two of you seem to linger your gaze on the door before he looks back at you, expectantly. You look at him briefly and then quickly make a jump for it at his expectancy, letting out a squeak when half your body falls through the hole, the pointed ends of the wood scraping your stomach. Your nails grip on to the floor boards as you try to keep yourself from falling into the pit, blood dripping from your stomach as you can feel the warm liquid dribble down your skin. Your teeth grit before you feel a large hands pull you up by wrapping around your waist line, feeling breathe dust your neck as you are lifted by the very monster that has been dragging you around.

Pulling you from the gaping hole completely, he sets you down. Since when did he get on the other side of the hole? You did not see nor feel him jump.

" **Idiøt**." He growls as he looks at your scraped up stomach before turning to the door. " **Wê ãre gøīñg to yœur hœuse, cørrèct?"**

"Uhm, actually...I was just going to call my boss for a crew and-"

" **Nœ. N o o n e e l s e w i l l b e c o m i n g h e r e.** " He growls lowly at you, hunched as his clawed hands outstretch in a threatening stance. Your body tenses up as you physically and mentally shrink before him. His spine from underneath his ink skin seems much pointier when standing like this. " **Nœ møré of yœúr spēcīes wîll mëddle hérè.** " You stare with widened eyes for a moment before nodding, which seems to be enough for the monster to go back to a more neutral stance.

The two of you stand in tense silence for what feels like a good minute before you finally gather the courage to speak up. "H-how will you even get in my house without people seeing you?" You look down to the gaping hole as you await a response. He seems to ponder for a minute, head cocked off to the side as if in thought before letting out a singular yet attention grabbing word of response.

" **You**." The way he says it is casual, as if there is no vagueness and nothing wrong with what he just said. Like there is nothing to be confused about.

"What-?" He grabs you and pins himself behind you as his body starts to melt all over you, ink seeping into your clothing, drenching it as he holds you down while doing this. He seems to think nothing of it, as if there is a strange form of innocence to his actions and he is oblivious to the wrongness of it all. However, you are far less than comfortable with this in the slightest. It feels violating to you in an indescribable way as his ink form sinks into your now staining attire, your long sleeve button up shirt and the jacket draped over it wanting to off themselves and your black jeans getting the least of the sharp end of the sword.

When he is done, you no longer feel a weight of force pinning you, rather a weight of your clothes. They feel five times heavier, and drenched from head to toe, yet are not leaking, as if the substance within has a will of it's own - which it does. They are pitch black and feel like the heaviest set of clothes you have ever worn. Thankfully, your under clothes were the exception...

Your face cringes before you let out a startled noise from your clothes pulling towards the door. The force is enough to make you stumble a bit before you make the connection and get the message, recomposing yourself as you reach for the knob of the creaky wooden door and pull it open, light rays from the beaming sun above attacking your eyes. Immediately, your eyes squint at the sudden source of light and your pupils try to dialate and adjust to the daytime consequence. You did come here when it was about six in the morning, and it seems it is no longer freezing, but rather really warm. The heat is fine though, considering the cool ink that has taken residence in the threads of your clothing. That is the one perk of violation, ironically - temperature comfort.

The muddy dirt below you and wet grass indicates that ice indeed melted as you were in there. It is probably about ten to eleven right now going off of the position of the sun, so you were in there for quite the amount of time. Shaking your head, you walk through the stick ridden and weed grown field, making your way to your vehicle. You pull your keys out from your knapsack, a small reminder of what you dropped back in the studio.

The smell of chemicals is soon replaced with the smell of pines and the sound of birds chirping mating calls in the distance. Your headache recedes. It is odd though, considering your clothes are now drenched in ink. Is there holes in logic now too instead of just the studio flooring?

You unlock your vehicle with your keys as you walk over to the driver's side and open the door, taking a seat and pulling the rest of your body in. The smell of your still dripping blood wafts through the vehicle, the pain throbbing at your stomach. You need to get home fast, since the hospital is not an option considering you don't want to draw attention to your case, and monstrosity risen from ink still is with you, although sunk into your clothing.

You shudder a bit at the thought. The beast having sunk into your clothes feels like five extra layers of attire wrapped around your body and makes you look a little more busty and well fed than you really are, like Russian soldier attire. Either they are really skinny or really fat underneath all that clothing.

You have no choice in the matter though, seeing as it could seriously injure you at any time it wanted to, especially now. The only comfort you have is that this being seems to want you alive. You feel like you should be far more scared than you already are. Yet you never screamed, never cried, and never ran, which in itself scares you. The fact that you seem to being unnaturally calm scares you on a different level. You do not even know why.

It can rip you in half. It can snap you like a twig. Bullets do not effect it. It could probably outrun you. It could walk all over you without you being able to do anything about it.

_So, why aren't you scared?_


	2. Chapter 2

You step into your empty house, the jangling of your keys echoing through the dark and empty place the door behind you closes to. The smell of your home is much more refreshing than the constant smell of blood and ink that has been flooding your nostrils all the way back. You are surprised that you are not at the very least bit light-headed from blood loss, or experiencing a bigger stain from your own crimson blood. Though, come to think of it, you have been feeling applied pressure to your wound ever since you sat within your vehicle. Was he trying to halt the bleeding? If so, there is more to the creature you saw and panicked over than what you have observed. It (or him) seems to be very observant from what you have seen so far.

As you step further in the house, the ink from your clothing starts pouring once your feet stand in the middle of your tile flooring. Ink drips from your attire and on the floor in thick puddles rather than tiny drops, the pool around your feet moving to the space in front of you, weight of your clothes decreasing by the second. You only now noticed how thick the ink is. A blood clot is almost a perfect comparison for it.

Before you know it, not a single part of your clothing is wet. However, what makes you mentally panic is that your clothes are still pitch black. All of it. Not a single colour other than black remains besides white buttons and such. " _Damnit..._ " Well, guess it looks like you are dressing like you are attending a funeral from now on.

You are quite startled when you look back up and see a short and rounding figure with pie cut eyes staring back at you. You stumble back a bit as the two beads of ink stare back at you with a _seemingly_ unwavering patience. He has a short and rounded stature with a clean, almost heart shaped plate of white on his face. His horns are even and the tail is somewhat shorter as it waves slowly behind him. Tap shoes reflect light and his grin is the whitest you have ever seen. It is a big contrast to his previous form. There is still a big puddle of ink that his form stands on, but your guess is that it is excess ink, since he takes on a smaller figure.

He seems a lot friendlier than before, as his figure is a complete one-eighty from his previous form. His image seems to pack a punch of harmlessness and peppyness. You can not help but notice how his clean gloves, bow, and smile stick out in contrast to the reflecting and composed ink that seems to be smooth as a flawless pearl. The grin on his face seems iconic and grabs your attention, and brings you a sense of importance to his character.

Your cognitive gears start churning and you recognize this as the design of the main character of the show - Bendy the Dancing Demon.

" **I had to change to this so we could have a solid conversation, what with you** **lookin** **'** **like you were about to piss yourself in my presence and what not.** " Your eyes narrow a bit at the little demon, yet he seems to not care for your little glare. " **Now. You** **must be curious on what I am, right?** "

"Why there is a seemingly unkillable demon in my house? Yes, actually, I do wonder. How did you guess?" It seems your quippy remarks have returned upon familiar territory and confrontation with a less agressive form.

He exhales irritatedly, " **I go by Bendy, yes, but I was not created. I am demon who took the form of a toon, merely for a deal made with a couple of humans. And that necklace around your neck?** " He gestures to the pendant with a mere movement from his rounded head, " **Isn't** **comin** **'** **off with a few pulls of your little human fingers.** "

"...what do you mean? How do I get it off?" Your hand finds its way to the gold chaining around your neck, shamelessly attempting to search for the hook once more.

" **I don't know. That's what I would like to know though,** " he stares at the golden piece of jewelry for a few seconds, " **do you have any books on rituals or** **somethin** **' around here?** "

"What? Why the heck would I have _cult books_ in my _house??"_ His grin twitches at your bewildered expression and vocal tone.

" **Just** **askin** **'** **, since I kind of** ** _need some._** " He acts like it is natural to have a few in your house, when it is absolutely not. How out of touch with human expectations is this demon? However, you are careful not to get too short with him, considering you are still very much ready to shit yourself if he suddenly decides to lunge at you and choke you out.

"Why won't it come off anyway?"

" **Because we are** **'soulmates'** **. Whether you believe in the concept or not, that pendant is proof. Only if you were my soulmate, would you be able to put it on. Otherwise, it would just slip right off your little neck. The thing was created by someone who saw me as a threat and locked me in a necklace. Soulmates between a demon and a human is a sick joke from the people upstairs and has been going on for a very long time. All I know is that as long as you have that on, I can't go so much as a mile from you without my form breaking down and my conscience traveling back to that pendant. If you die with that on, then I die as well.** " It is a relief knowing he can not kill you. However, who is to say he can not harm you?

"Okay... Well, um, I came to the studio for a reason, and you took up residence there, right?"

He seems to glare at you as he growls, " _ **Yes...**_ " He seems protective of the place, like a lion with its territory.

"Well, I'm a detective so," your eyes roam everywhere but his direction as you nervously gather your courage to explain, "I need to be back at the studio to search for a missing man. Uh, you wouldn't happen to know a Henry Stein by any chance, would you?" The demon scoffs.

" **That idiot? I almost killed him, but he was crafty. In fact, he was the one who put me in a pendant form in the first place. He didn't know what he was doin' and merely read off of the papers Joey wrote out of his book.** "

"Could you perhaps lead me to him? When I head back for that place?"

" **No.** " His answer is dead and flat.

"No?"

" **Correct.** _ **Nœ**_ _ **.**_ "

You sigh heavily. If he is going to be difficult, then you are going to have to pick at him until he gives in. He may terrify you, the concept of a living demon in your household and whatnot, but you have been trained to work under pressure. "Hm. Well, then I say no to going out and buying you unholy books, or helping you in any way, shape, or form since you won't help me keep my job." He blinks rapidly a few times, seemingly surprised at your sudden decision before slipping into outrage.

His form starts to drip, his gloved hands sharpening at the tips, tail and height growing in size, and he slowly reverts to his more hostile form, ink dripping violently all over the place as the puddle beneath his feet gets sucked into his being.

 _ **"**_ _ **Yøü**_ _ **wīll**_ _ **ør**_ _ **Ī**_ _ **will k ì l l**_ _ **yøu**_ _ **.**_ " He stomps and leans down, right in your unmoving face.

You stand there and cross your now black sleeved arms as you stand your ground and raise an eyebrow quizically at him. "Aren't you the one who said if I die, you die?"

He snarls out, " _ **Shüt**_ _ **up...**_ " His surprisingly hot breath dusts your face, making you blink more often than per usual. " **I can still hurt you** _ **very painfully.**_ "

"Would that not make me want to help you less, though? And wouldn't that risk me going into shock or having a heart attack?" He silently stands there menacingly for a second, his body twitching like crazy; the corners of his grin, his clawed fingers, spade-tipped tail - anger and annoyance radiates from him like a toxic waste bin at your voiced logic.

Now you scoff, as if it was your turn, "That's what I thought. Honestly, I will gladly help you if you help me. Just put aside your differences with Henry, whatever he may have done to you, and help me find him, won't you?" You look passively into his dripping face for any sign of compliance.

He huffs, lowering his agressive stance as he stands more straight and lowers his very capable gloved hands, posture changing into something more passive-agressive. " **Fine.** " He stomps off into the kitchen. While you would love to monitor him to make sure he is not ink poisoning your foods to get a kick out of tormenting you as revenge or something, you have a shower to take and a throbbing, dripping, bloody wound on your stomach to clean up.

You pad over slowly to your bedroom, the hallways dim, barely any light from the windows shining on the cream and tan coloured walls. Thankfully the house does not have creaky floors, so you are nearly soundless as you walk across the fake dark oak planked flooring. As you enter your room, you sigh in relief. The most bizarre of events that has happened to you today has drained you of most energy, both mentally and physically.

You flick your bedroom light switch and the room illuminates with a yellowish tint. Everything is how you left it; the grey and black blanket is draped messily across your white sheeted bed, the pillows that match the blanket lying crooked at the head of the king-sized bed. Your TV remains devoid of any electrical power on the TV stand of your room and papers, folders, and clothes are scattered about the lazily decorated room. Since when was the last time you cleaned your room? After the last commission you did? Two commissions ago? Three?

Walking over to the dressers of your TV stand, you pull out your freshly washed pair of your most beloved pajamas and undergarments. Today you might just sleep in after introducing your new... _guest_ to your house. Tomorrow? Perhaps you will finally set back out to the studio. You had gotten absolutely no sleep last night and you need your rest if you are going to find the missing man of the Stein family while dealing with _a literal demon following you around_.

From your room, you hear shuffling from across the hall where you believe the bathroom lies. " _What could he be doing?_ " You quizically murmer under your breath. Hopefully he is not sacking any of your possessions, though you doubt it. There would be nothing to gain, at least nothing that you could think of.

Walking out of your room, clothes in hand, you head over to the restroom after grabbing a towel from the hallway closet, only to see your gauze and hydrogen peroxide resting on the bathroom counter, laid out for your essential use. This could only be his doing, though you somewhat do not believe so. Who else would have done this, though?

_He found this stuff quick..._

It was probably easy for him though, considering you usually just let it sit on the kitchen counter by the sink.

You shut and lock the door to the restroom behind you as you set your clothing and towel down on the closed toilet seat. You strip from your clothing and discard them without reluctance on the floor in the corner of the room, letting them sit there to rot. The only part of them that is not now stained black is the white buttons of your collared, button up shirt. Maybe the black will wash out after a few rounds, though you doubt they ever will, no matter how many times you run them through the washing and drying machines.

The cold of the ceramic tub hits the pads of your feet and you hiss quietly from the contact, closing the thick glassed doors as you turn the water on, lowering your hand under the barrage of water, waiting for it to hit just the right temperature. Once the water feels warm enough, you turn on the shower head and thousands of beads of water pours down on you, dripping down your skin and dampening hair locks.

You start scrubbing through your hair with shampoo, balling it all up in a soapy mess atop your head. Foamy soap splats to the ceramic floor of the tub and you shake the access shampoo off before soaping your entire body with dry skin resistant body soap, rubbing it into your skin. Surprisingly, no ink stained your skin, or even got on you. Bendy seems to have some extreme self control over his inky mass that makes up his form. It sure seems he did not care for the colouring of your clothes though. Perhaps he did that purposely to piss you off. Who knows how far his self control goes with his masses of ink?

You rinse yourself down, a whole load of soap the last thing you see before you squeeze your eyes shut out of reflex, not wanting to get any of the stuff in your eyes. Your wound already hurts enough, though it has stopped bleeding for the most part, with some red water going down the drain as proof that it still is not sealed completely, at least not yet for good. It will be there for a while, and you may or may not have scars, but you will be fine.

Ruffling the shampoo from your hair, you rinse all of the rest of of you and turn the water off, droplets of water dripping from gathered clumps and locks of your hair and your skin. You grab the towel from the shut toilet seat and start to dry yourself off, drying the pendant as well. You will admit, the pendant made it harder to wash your neck, but at least the feeling of being watched disappaited as you entered the bathroom. Through most of the duration of having it on, you have gained this feeling of being watched, and it has striked you odd. Maybe it is just a vibe from the weird voodoo affects that this thing gives off, whatever that means. You would have never even entertained the thought of the concept of existing demons, or witchcraft and magic of any kind. If a demon is real, then what else previously considered fantasy is also real?

After having dried yourself off, you step out of the shower and shake off the towel before hanging it on the metal bar rack where you usually hang hand towels so it can air dry. The mirror is fogged up since you forgot to turn the vent on, but it does not really matter. You start slipping on your fresh socks, underwear, and bra as well as your long sleeve pajamas. It feels nice to be in warm and fresh clothing after cleaning yourself.

You grab a hand towel, the hydrogen peroxide, and gauze and start tending to your wound. You dab the stinging liquid into an absorbant cotton ball and start squeezing it on to your wound and applying it ever so gently. The cleaned wound feels better, but still burns like hell from when you had applied hydrogen peroxide. It is a gathering of big nasty gashes from where the raw, splintering wood that was sticking out scraped your skin very harshly. You grit your teeth at not just the memory, but the burning pain and cringing sensation of decaying wood coming into contact with your skin, a certain chalky and rough texture having torn through your skin messily. You are glad Bendy had temporarily stopped the bleeding for you, otherwise you probably would have came close to passing out a long time ago.

Letting the disinfectant do its job as your wounds sizzles and bubbles, you take the gauze and start wrapping it around your stomach. Your hand goes rounds and rounds around your stomach with the white and sterile form of cottony cloth. Once you are done, you set everything back and clean things up, pulling your shirt back down and over the now healing and protected wound.

You grab your rinsing cup from its usual place on the sink counter and fill it up before setting it back down. You take your tooth brush, wet it down, squeeze some toothpaste onto it, and start brushing. Maybe after you are done you can hurry up and sort things out with the demon in your house, get something to eat, and then pass out under the warm cover of your sheets.

You rinse your toothbrush off and put it down before grabbing your cup of water and sipping it into your mouth, swishing the water around in your mouth, spitting it out and into the sink, and repeating this process until all the paste is out of your mouth completely. You set the cup back down and grab your dirty discarded clothes from the floor and walk off and into the living room with them.

Walking in, you find the six to seven foot tall demon looking around the room, taking in the surroundings. Your black and cushy sofa looks pretty appealing as it faces the big flat screen TV on its black stand. Resting on top of the glass and dark wooden coffee table between is the case files for Henry Stein. It seems as if he has been snooping around, considering they are wide open.

"Those files are confidential, you know - my eyes only." You throw your dirty laundry into the laundry hamper next to your sofa and walk over to the coffee table, closing the files and grabbing them. He stares at you blankly all the while. "Keep your paws off of them." He grunts, turning his almost moon-shaped head to the side and away from you, caught red handed. You would have guessed he would have gotten pissed and threatened you, saying he could do as he pleased, yet he seems to act respectfully. Odd, considering he seems to be one who does not particularly take kindly to being told what to do.

Honestly, while it does disturb you how unusually calm you are, which is probably because of this whole "soulmate" buiseness (or perhaps because you now know he can not kill you), you fair better when you _are not_ scared for your life. So, you are not really going to complain.

"So, what do you want to do for the duration of your stay? I can grab an extra blanket and you can sleep on the sofa if you would like, though I am not sure if you will fit on there with a height like that."

" **Just leave it on the couch.** " He grumbles almost absentmindedly as he stares at the window, light dusting through the curtains and giving a light white glow to the surrounding area, much prettier than the ugly yellow your artificial bedroom light has been giving you. Maybe you should find some better light bulbs soon.

"Alright then." You walk off with the case files and head back to the hallway closet, opening it back up and reaching for the second top shelf, grabbing one of the more monotone blankets. It is a black and grey striped blanket that is comfortably thick for the climate here in Brooklyn.

You head to your room and set the files on your bed, slipping them underneath the sheets, and then head back out to the living room, folded blanket in hand. Your sock covered feet pad across the fake wood floor and you yawn, almost nodding off. You really need to get some sleep after this.

Walking to the couch, you tiredly flap the blanket and spread it out lazily across the sofa, setting it up for in case he actually decides to sleep on the couch. Does he need sleep though, or did he just want to make you run a pointless errand? Does he even eat or drink? You would think not, considering he is made of ink, though you can never really know for sure unless you get information straight from the source. Not that you feel like going out of your way to go and bother the towering demon though.

You rub your eyes and sluggishly walk back to your bedroom, not particularly caring where the demon went off to or that you have not eaten yet. All you really want to do is rest and cuddle up in your warm bed. Sleeping in all day is a rare luxury, and you are allowed to stay home as much as you need, as long as you are making progress on the case and physically check in with Judy every once in a while.

Walking into your room, you trudge over to your bed and climb on the bouncy furniture piece, slipping under the warm sheets and curling up into fetal position. Snuggling up to your pillow, you shut your eyes and your conscience already starts to get fuzzy...

You are out like a light.

***

" _Mmm_ _..._ " You groan and turn over in your bed, your arm lazily shielding your face even though there is no light in your room, not even from the window. However, there is something else keeping you up.

Your stomach.

It growls emptily and in return you groan, realizing you have to get up and feed it. Sighing, you crawl out of bed, the warmness escaping from you as soon as you stand up and start leaving the room. What time is it? You turn around and look at your blurry appearing alarm clock through your morning eyes.

3:46 a.m....?

Wonderful.

Looking around, you deem Bendy to be long gone into another room and peel off your pajamas, discarding them on to your bed and sloppily grabbing some clothes from your drawers, still being mindful of the somewhat bloodied gauze around your stomach. This time, you think you will just grab some black clothing, just to be safe. The day your entire arsenal of clothing is stained completely black is the day you get mocked for being a broody and beyond introverted detective who acts like Batman and hates anything that does not have to do with your work.

You walk off and start heading to the kitchen. What did Bendy even do while you were asleep? Did he sleep too, or does he not need to? Can he even fall asleep? Your curiosity really wants to know, though you _really_ don't want to pester him with all your wandering curiosities. This is a once in a life time opportunity though... Maybe later on when it does not feel like everything you do warrants a death threat?

While you are not as scared as you should be, you still are afraid of the towering ink demon that calls himself the cartoon character "Bendy". The fact that the whole concept of soulmates is real really baffles you. You, being a soulmate with a demon of all things, is what really takes the cake. Demons being real is a whole nother level of baffling.

And one is... _in your house._

Having trudged to the kitchen, you mentally thank any divine entity out there that you have not encountered the ink demon living somewhere in your house so far this morning. You just came out of your slumber, so chances of you being able to deal with a foreign being, of which you understand very little of, at this present moment are very thin. Your hands sift through cupboards, then the fridge after deciding on nothing from there, from which cold air dusts your drowzy morning figure the moment you open the giant electrically running kitchen appliance.

Your eyes blink groggily as you slowly scan the refrigerated contents before you. The cold air is certainly waking you a bit, no matter how unpleasant it may be. At least you should get something down your gullet, considering you are aiming to get back to the studio today. After you find Henry, alive or... _dead_ , you will have to start looking for those books Bendy was referencing to.

You absentmindedly grab something from the meat drawer of the fridge. Noticing your subconscience's choice, you decide on a sandwich. Something plain - a complete contrast to how your life just got. Grabbing a few other components of your desired quick breakfast, you shut close the fridge and grab the loaf of bread you had bought not too long ago and a plate.

Wait, what about Bendy? Does he even need to eat?

Standing there quietly for a few seconds, pondering on the matter, you hesitantly call out his name, or his supposed name. After a few seconds, the feeling of being watched creeps up on you and you start to hear footsteps from far into the other end of the house, coming towards your position.

Eventually, the footsteps come to a halt just under the archway of the kitchen and you turn your head to see the demon quietly looming, waiting for you to elaborate on your summon of his presence. " **What is it? Are we leaving?** " Question in almost monotone, he merely stands and stares.

"No...not yet. I just woke up. I was just wondering," you start to jumble over your words nervously, in somewhat embarrassment(?), "and this is probably a dumb question- but, do you need to eat? _Do_ you eat...? I mean...do you want anything?" Your head turns away from his and your eyes burn holes into the counter in front of you, plate resting as your hands desperately distract themselves by assembling your meal for this morning, and he just snorts, somewhat mockingly, though seemingly genuine amusment.

" **No.** " He states it flatly, amusement very faint in his tone, yet still there, and trudges off.

The discomfort of embarrassment ebbs away at your very being. Why were you so embarrassed over asking a ridiculous question, yet seemingly unmoved by the towering demon's threats of inflicting harm upon you or causing your death? It is probably due to you questioning logic and how it seems to shield your thoughts from irrational sways during even the most bizarre and stressful situations. Though, you tend to be easily flustered when asking about foreign concepts and subjects, especially with people you barely even know. And the demon? He marks all that criteria.

You decide to grab a ziplock bag and make two other sandwiches for the road, and another one to eat for breakfast to top the first. You will need a lot of brain power for today, and it was foolish of you to go to that blasted studio on low energy yesterday. Your thoughts were plagued by ill judgement and now you are stuck with a demon breathing down your neck.

With that, you quickly hound on your food, having taken a seat as you much away at the sandwiches you made last minute. Your teeth rip through the bread and the edible components between. You are terrified, yet eager to see what else is in that studio. Bendy never did mention if Henry was dead or alive...so maybe you have a chance.

Your stomach is a bit pained from you eating so fast, but satisfied. It is probably going to get a bit worse, considering you heard that walking while digesting your food gives you cramps, but you will manage as the pain disappaits with time. So, grabbing the bagged lunch for your day (or snack if you get antsy), you gather some essentials and put them orderly in your satchet and sling it over your shoulder. Last thing you do is rush to the bathroom, prep and brush your hair, making sure the tangles are out, and slip on your black boots. Now, you are ready to go. So, you head for the door, ready to call out for the towering demon, only to find out that he is already there, waiting.

You look at him blankly, and he looks at you with that same unwavering iconic grin of his. " **You know the drill.** " You turn your head and scoff, yet still walk over to the demon and comply, waiting. From behind you, he does as he had done last time, leaning over and onto you, melting. Thick ink drips and dribbles as it sinks into your attire. This is the only way to get around without people witnessing a six to seven foot tall demon stalking around a few feet behind you.

Before he actually breaks down completely, you blurt out, "You'd better not stain it all black again." Huffing, you expect him to deny or to say it was not on purpose, but are surprised by another.

" **Ø** **h** , **dõñ't** **wôrry** **, Ī** **wīll** **.** " Then, he is gone ( ** _reduced to atoms_** ) and has fully sunk into your clothing. The weight added to them is enough indication as well as the lack of a presence lurking behind you. Despite your inner turmoil and how infuriated you are at the confirmation that he did it on purpose and plans to do so again, you hold a calm and unmoved demeanor. He most likely wants a reaction from you, but you will make sure he does not get it.

With that out of the way, and the feeling of being watched ever so present, you head out as you shake off your slight stress and anxiety from coming into such close proximity and contact with the demon, and head for the studio.

***

You shiver in the cold weather, your ink soaked clothes only amplifying the freezing temperatures. Rushing inside, you take care not to stumble into the hole in the wooden, rotting floor. Your eyes once again are tempted to peer down and into the abyss that lurks within the gaping hole, but resist the urge to do so as you focus on positioning yourself to make the jump despite frostbite nibbling at your finger tips, your nails now a shade of blue. Gathering your courage, you make a steady-footed leap across, landing a little bit wobbly on the other side.

A relieved sigh quickly escapes your throat. However, that ends quickly when you jump at the sudden appearance of a dripping, inky hand sprouting from the damp clothing on your back, pointing in a certain direction. It feels so foreign, yet an odd comfort you can't explain. You feel...guided? You shake your head and discard it as something to do with being soulmates, or just incredibly lonely because you suck at socializing and Angela is basically your only friend at this point, yet you are not sure if she quite classifies as a friend. After a few the seconds, the sudden startle disappaiting along with the fear that came with it, you look off into the direction his lone appendage points to - the same hall you went down the last time you were here.

Hesitantly, you follow his directions. He points you past the writing on the wall, the locked doors, the beaten metal garage(?) door, and finally all the way up to the piles of debris, where wood splinters out, waiting to rip up your jeans, and possibly your skin as well if you dared to try and get to the other side. It looks like more rough wood fell to the floor, as it was not even close to as "safe" to carefully walk through as it was when Bendy first cleared a resemblance of a path through it.

His hand palms and halts for you to stop - a stern and sudden gesture. That is when you start to feel ink pool at your feet. You look down and surprisingly do not cringe at the feelings accompanying the sight before you; ink glides and expands across your legs and ankles, covering you in extremely thick layers of ink. It does not cover your boots - you doubt any wood could pierce your rough and tough soles or sides of your boots unless you actually _try_ to get hurt. Your skin however, can easily be torn to shreds.

Looking back up, you see him pointing again with that sprouted hand and arm of his, and more hesitantly than before (though more trusting, ironically), you nervously walk through the wood. You flinch when someone of it seems to almost stab you, only to be slashed by the thick ink wrapped around your legs. You watch in awe as you more confidently walk through the wood, the wood underneath being crushed mercilessly under your boots while the surrounding wood threatening your legs gets slashed to bits by violently swiping ink that lashes out from the thick coating around your walking appendages.

After making it through that mess of debris, the ink soaks back into your now pitch black clothing with the rest of the ink, with the exception of the sprouted arm and gloved, clawed hand from your back directing you through the damp and eerie building. You do not know to where or to what he is taking you, but you think it best to follow anyway. Maybe evidence? Maybe...Henry? You mentally prepare yourself to either see a worn out man or a rotting carcass, which reminds you of the dead feline hidden among decaying wood and dusty crates and boxes. Good thing you brought a giant plastic bag to transport its remains with and some disposable gloves to prevent yourself from contracting any diseases.

As you near the ledge, the putrid smell of decay outdoes the almost burning smell of ink and chemicals. This is a grim reminder of the small body you found, and a provoking jab at your growing nausea. You manage to keep your stomach under strict control, but feel discomfort all the same. The training you went through to deal with stuff like this does not solve everything, but it has definitely helped you in the long run.

You position yourself to aid your actions you are about to take, and leap off the ledge - a small drop, just as last time, except better because your ankle no longer is giving you a hard time after tripping over that bloody pipe. Your nose burns briefly and you instinctively lean into the pit opposing your elbow and sneeze out into the air, because the arm guiding you pulls your arm out of the way. All the dust around here is finally catching up with your nostrils and sinesces. The hand directing you seems to cringe, as if you just wiped boogers on him yourself. Which turns your confused glare at the actions of the appendage to realization - you technically _would_ be. After all, you would be sneezing on not just the pit of your elbow, but on him as well since he is soaked into your clothing.

"Oh, s-sorry..." Your stuttering stems from your embarrassment. At least he stopped you before you actually sneezed on him and he decided to smack you in the back of the head for it or choke you out...you will admit the former is more likely and the latter was a _bit_ overkill, but who _would not_ be scared to death of the cartoon demon who has taken unwilling residence in your life as of just yesterday? You probably would have smacked him too during one of your more foul moods if he had sneezed on you. He does not have a nose though, and you seem to often forget that he has no human organs to cause him to sneeze or organs in general, as far as you can rationally guess anyway.

For a few seconds, time is just still while the two of you let the social interaction pass through your minds, before he starts directing you again. Unfortunately, he directs you straight to the pile of crates where you found the corpse of the cat. Did you miss any evidence while you were over there? (Fortunately though, your gun is over there too, which you quickly put on safety lock after picking it up, and stash it in your satchet bag. Seems like you have been saved from Judy's wrath, but now you have to explain to her why you have used your only bullet. Hopefully, like you always are, you will be a good liar.)

Standing maybe a foot away from the dusty pile of box shaped wood, the ink from your clothing starts to pool at your feet as it leaves your attire just as he did yesterday when you first got in the door of your cluttered and homey house. It may be messy, but it is yours. Why waste time decluttering when you can find things just fine? Besides, Bendy has not complained (yet) and it is not like you are inviting anyone over.

He takes his tall standing form, having finally molded from all the ink that had been dripping from your clothing. You look down yet again to see your entire set of clothes stained black... _again_. You groan, while he merely chuckles darkly and does not so much as flinch at your irritation, but rather revels in it and basks in the hilarity it is to him. He makes a brief comment without turning to look at you, " **You look better in black, especially the jacket.** " You have a leathery jacket on (he also _**purposely**_ somehow dyed it black as well), which he seemed to be referencing. His words send a weird chill up your spine that you can not pinpoint the origin of. Did he just...? _The hell_? He had threatened your life just yesterday...!!

You huff and cross your arms as your tone shifts into an irritated one, "So why are we back here?" His tail sways a bit as he flexes his hands. You nearly jump out of your skin when he slashes away a couple of crates with casual violence, like it means nothing to him. Chips of wood fly through the air and land just about everywhere within proximity, scattered about the dampened wood floor.

Your jaw opens and lies ajar when after you blink the dust away and look to see an either unconscious or dead man lying behind all the destroyed wood, propped up against the wall motionlessly. Well, motionlessly until you look at his chest to see it rise and fall, signalling that he is still breathing. You get ready to run up to him before Bendy suddenly grabs the unconscious man, who you can easily remember as the face from Henry Stein's profile, and grip him hard to where he makes choking noises.

You watch in horror as he raises his other clawed hand, ready to slash him, your eyes wide at the sight. In a moment of quick and riskful thinking, you pull out your gun, turn off the safety lock, and hold it to the side of your head. You yell out, " _If he dies, I die! And so will you!!_ " Bendy turns his head in a snap, his grin frowning to your short-lived surprise, and sees your darkly glaring and dead serious face. " _Kill him and_ _**I will**_ _pull the trigger._ " You hiss, threatening him harshly once more, without hesitation riddling your voice, thankfully.

He seems startled for a moment before he masks it with anger and snarls, " _ **Yøû**_ _ **wõuldñ't**_ _ **dårè**_ _ **...**_ " His ink covered face twitches as if he was infuriated and ink starts to run down and drip, but his body language, while inhuman, shows human signs that he is nervous and on edge even though he seems to try to look more infuriated to try and scare you out of opposing him.

"You can't make me regret killing myself if we are both dead, and it is my job to save that man's life if I can, even if I have to shoot myself to keep you from hurting him for good." Okay, a lot of that was a big fat lie. Your job as a detective is more complex than that. Your job is not to sacrifice yourself or put a bullet in your head to get rid of some demon or to save the person you were hunting down. However, you should save people when you can and are required to if it does not put your life or the lives of those around you at risk. Putting your life in harm's way can get you fired though, especially if you were to do so in a position under/in the FBI. However, he _does_ ** _not_** know this. Only you, your co-workers, and your superiors do. Also, you have no bullets to shoot yourself with.

(Also, it is contradictory that you said that you would kill yourself to save that man's life, even though you said if he _**did**_ kill him, _**then**_ you would kill yourself. You can not save him if he is already dead. You expect him to overlook this hole in your empty threats though, considering he believes you are about to put a bullet in your brain, which would result in both of your demises if you actually went through with it, according to him at least.)

" **Tçh** **,** " his teeth-showing frown twitches, the tips of his teeth becoming visible to you for the first time (and _boy_ are they sharp) as he grunts, " _ **f i n e.**_ " He drops the man's body to the floor, yet you continue to hold the glock to your head, glaring at him expectantly.

"Back away from him..." You growl and your eyes narrow and you watch him growl back ten times more feral as he irately backs up several feet from who you presume to be Henry Stein, tail flicking violently back and fourth behind him. You run to the passed out man while putting the gun back in safety lock and shoving it in your leather satchet once more. Getting down on your knees, you start to inspect him and his current condition.

The man sure looks like exactly how he did in the profile. Well...trait wise - he seems beyond unhealthy, and almost somewhat unrecognizable. His skin is deathly pale, while he seems to be really skinny and frail. It seems he has not eaten in a good while, and is pretty dehydrated. His clothes are stained with ink, and the lower half of his torn up pants is drenched in the stuff. He looks like the grim reaper is only a tiny, meek call away.

You pull out your lunch from your satchet along with an unopened water bottle you had packed maybe two to three days ago and set them down beside you. Letting out a sigh, and you put your hand to his forehead to get a rough guess of his temperature. Your hand rests gently on his pale forehead, moving his dusty brown hair out of the way. Feeling his skin, he seems to be really cold. That can be treated at least a bit too.

You start to take off your jacket, which earns a very pissed growl from the demon not too far from where you kneel. He could not actually mean it when he made the comment about your jacket, surely. He did so to iritate and provoke you, same voice and mannerisms as Derrel and other men who have had the same goal - nearly identical. The only thing that is different that he can use as leverage is that he is your soulmate to confuse your guesses on his motives and to find an excuse to dye all your clothing black without getting a whack to the head.

He is pissed because you are helping the man who locked him in the pendant around your neck in the first place. The man who made this whole situation possible (you do not completely blame him for acting the way he is to this situation due to this fact). "Oh, shut up. Just because you hate him doesn't mean I am going to let him suffer." Your glare at him for a few good seconds before going back to tending the man before you, seeming to have quieted the demon as he has realized you are not going to go along with any of his objections, nor listen to them

Lifting his back a bit, you slip his limp arms into your jacket sleeves and zip it up. Hopefully that will warm him up a bit. You shiver in your short sleeved shirt at the sudden lack of a second layer around your body and almost regret lending the piece of clothing. He needs it more though. Better having him gaining more likelihood to live than you comfort in this sickly building.

You gently shake the man to try and wake him up. "Hey buddy, time to get up." Your voice is gentle as you try and coax the guy out of his deathly looking slumber. If he is in a coma, then things just became far more complicated and harder to deal with. You swear, you will scream in frustration if that is the case-

And then...

Henry opens his grey eyes.

Bendy grunts in disappoinment.

You flood with relief.

_(And Alice's pissed off ghost screams in the distance.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments, and please consider leaving kudos. I love constructive criticism.


	3. Chapter 3

Much to the anger of the demon, Henry awakes. It is to your immense relief, however.

" _Wha_ _...._ _"_ The man awakes with foggy eyes and a dazed expression as he tries to comprehend the world and situation around him. His frail form does not make a move to get up, however.

Instinctively, you ask the dazed man, "Are you okay?" Though, it is obvious he is not, so you add, "Do you have any sore muscles? Sore limbs? Anything broken? Sprained?" You have already taken an educated guess on his condition based on your observations, but there could be things wrong with him that can not be determined at first glance.

" _I don't..._ " He does not finish his mumbling response. Maybe he has a concussion or just needs some actual rest. You should probably get him to eat and drink now, even if your stomach disagrees.

"Here," you hand him your two sandwiches that you had originally packed for yourself to eat for lunch, "you look pretty malnourished." He looks at the food with a continued pained expression on his face. What has this man even been through?

He sits up despite his condition and meekly grabs onto the bagged food after you open it for him. He pulls out a sandwich with a shaky, pale and ink stained hand and starts nibbling on the food. While he is occupied with trying to eat, you look over to Bendy. The demon seems to be standing off to the side with a twitchy grin and his expression unfocused, staring off into space in another direction.

You leave the bottled water and the other bagged sandwich for Henry as you get up and approach the demon, who had been head over heels for the idea of offing Henry. Though, you do not really blame him much, for Henry was the one who had trapped him in that pendant in the first place. What happened before the pendant though (and what lead up to it) is something unknown to you. You probably should not ask about that at this present moment though, and should wait for the sickly man over on the floor to recover.

"Hey..." Your voice is soft as is your expression, as you successfully grab his attention with it. "What happened back there? I know he is the reason you and me are in this mess, but still..." You think to approach him gently, as not to rouse a harsh reaction and trigger another burst of anger for him to act on - calming yourself makes it easier to calm another. Though he deserves to be yelled at (considering he just attempted murder), that would only escalate matters and make things worse.

He growls, " **Thãt** **ïdīot** **füçked** **up** **ēvérythîñg** **,** **añd** **wæs** **çløse** **to** **gettiñg** **rïd** **óf** **mê** **før** **gõød** **..."** His sharp ends of his teeth become slightly visible as he grimaces spitefully. **"** **Ī** **dēstrœyed** **Thê** **Êñd** **tàpé** **fœr** **gøôd** **thõúgh** **."** A little bit of victory and malice crawls on his expression, seemingly replacing the anger as his grin widens and stretches, and his look makes him seem as if he had forgotten you were even there for a few seconds.

"What?" A quizical expression comes to your face, but he does not grace it with an answer, nor explanation. Your thoughts are interrupted, and the both of you are caught in a shift of attention when a voice sounds from behind you.

"Who _are_ you?" It was Henry. He seems to look between the two if you like you had grown an extra set of limbs. From what you can guess, he is baffled at the sight of the demon speaking with you instead of trying to kill you, as if it was an impossible concept. He looks fearful of the demon, yet confused at your actions.

You blink a few times before walking over to him, having soaked in the question. "Ah, my name is _____ _____, and I am a detective with the Boston, NYPD. You had gone missing for quite some time and your family had filed a missing report. You gave your wife and daughter quite the scare."

"Ah...I-I see." He stares to the dampened ground with those greyish eyes of his blankly, as if in thought or contemplation. You see that he has already downed the water and hounded the food. All that is left is an empty zip lock bag and a plastic water bottle.

"Excuse me for a minute." And excuse yourself you did, as you walked quietly to the rotting corpse of the feline. You almost can not stand the smell, but you swear that you will give this poor animal a proper burial.

You pull out your disposable gloves and slip them on your hands, securely. Then, you pull out the giant plastic bag (a polite term for trash bag since that term seems to deem it a disrespectful place to temporarily hold the carcass of the once living creature) and bend down, carefully scooping the sad display up with your covered hands and gently stuff it into the bag, tightening and tying it up. You also came prepared with an air freshener, which you pull out if your satchet and spray the bag down with as not to disturb the nostrils of the beaten down man, or to disgust the demon any further than he already is with having Henry in his proximity.

"Alright," you turn to the two males who are accompanying you to your vehicle, you decide, "we can get going now. Now that I have found you, I need your permission to notify your family of your whereabouts. Not that you _don't_ want to see your family, it is just required that I make a call to your wife and have your permission to let her know where you have been, since she was the one who reported you as missing."

"I don't want her to know where I was, or what I was doing...for obvious reasons."

"Alright, I'll tell her that you have been found, but not where."

"Could we perhaps wait first? I need...I need to to figure out what I am going to say to her. I also don't look like I, uh, was anywhere good..." He scratches the back of his head, ruffling his dusty brown hair and bit more than it already is. It seems to be untamed from whatever he has been through down here.

"Well...I could probably let you come to my place before I do anything so you can clean up. Just...come up with something good. This is not what I am supposed to do when I actually find a missing person, especially one who seems that they require medical attention, and you look ill. I want to keep this whole studio situation between those who already know as well." He seems relieved.

"Thank you..."

This situation is weird enough for you, and now you are taking home a practical stranger. You are not as scared though, since you have Bendy looming over your shoulder. Even if Henry seems innocent enough, you always have the right to be a bit paranoid. Though, to be fair, he is not much of a stranger to you as you are to him, considering you have a whole file of confidential information on him.

You walk to Bendy and tell him, "Okay, you can do the uh, thing now."

" ** _Jacket._** " You are taken back a bit by his voice. He sees your mixed expression and seems to grunt after thinking for a few seconds. " **The more attire, the easier it is to do...** "

"Oh..." You know there is more to his demand - he just does not want _Henry_ to have it. However, the reason he gave you is logical enough for you to just go along with it to avoid pissing him off further. You have to be careful with him.

You turn around, and before you can get anything out of your mouth, you are handed your jacket back. "Here, just take it." You grab it from his hold hesitantly, and slip it on.

"You aren't cold?" You raise an eyebrow at him quizically.

"I am, but I'd rather not...if you catch my drift." You nod, quite obvious what he meant, given the hint of fear in his eyes that only becomes more apparent which each look of his that lands on the demon beside you - the demon currently staring him down, and if he visibly had eyes then they would probably have a murderous glint in them.

"Alright, we can do the thing now?"

" **After the** _ **ledge**_ _ **.**_ **"** Your face goes blank before you remember that you are not tall enough to climb up, as you look over to it and determine neither you _**or**_ Henry is tall enough to do so. However, when in the halls, Bendy's horns nearly touch the ceiling. He towers both you _and_ Henry.

"Oh..." The three of you approach the said ledge, not without the trash from the items you had packed though. You do not care if this place is worn down - you are not littering. You still have the bag of... _you know what_ in hand. You know you have a shovel somewhere in your garage. Maybe you can bury them in your backyard?

"So, uh... what's in the bag?" Henry raises a brow at you, looking between you, your plastic gloved hands, and the bag that you had sprayed down with air freshener.

"You sure you wanna know?" You slit your eyes at him and smile lazily, yet there is a bit of a dark undertone to your smile.

"Well, when you put it that way, I guess I want to know less? But, yeah...I guess..." The man seems a bit put on edge from your question.

A simple blurt from your mouth comes out to his misfortune, "A dead cat." His face is priceless, and you are startled when you hear Bendy roar out a dark laugh. Pretty insensitive, but it would be hypocrisy if you were to tell him so, given that you too think it is somewhat funny. Not a dead cat, of course. Just his facial reaction. Anyone could imagine his expression with ease to your response.

First, he picks you up, to which you are startled a bit at. You are carefully lifted up, his large hands grabbing on to your thighs with a secure grip, to where you can grab onto the railing and climb up. Once you get on your feet, you look behind and back out of the way so Henry can climb up. However, he does not get to climb up, because how Bendy was with you is nowhere similar to how he is with Henry. He roughly grabs on to Henry, and chucks him over the railing. Thinking quickly, you move to lessen the force of the impact, somewhat catching him. Still, he gets a rough landing.

Bendy snickers at the inflicted misfortune before launching himself up with inhuman agility and strength, making a steady landing, to which you swear you can feel the surrounding area shake a bit. The creaking of the wood a few seconds after makes you grit your teeth and look above you nervously, but you calm after a good few seconds. You help Henry onto his feet, huffing at Bendy's aggressive moves towards Henry. The man is already beaten up enough. You furrow your brows at him, but it does not seem to faze him, so you look away.

You walk to the debris, only to be grabbed by the collar of your blackened jacket. Seems the demon does not want to risk having any humans impaled, as he reluctantly grabs Henry too, but by the neck instead of literally any other way. You worry of him choking him out, but thankfully it only takes a few seconds to get across. You would have thought Bendy would do the strange thing he does, where he soaks into your clothing so no one can spot him in the outside world, but seems like he has other sudden plans.

He drops the two of you roughly, but you both manage to land well and on your feet. Bendy keeps on trudging and you tail behind, as does Henry. He keeps awefully close to you, out of fear of the demon most likely. He still seems to be baffled by the demon's lack of...murder.

In fact, he turns to you and asks of why this is so, "Hey, uh... what's up with him not chasing us?"

"Aren't you the one who put him in this necklace?" You grab onto the pendant around your neck and pull it out enough for him to see, raising a brown at his lack of knowledge.

"Oh, uh, that thing? I don't know what I did, to be honest with you. I just read off of a couple of notes and books I found and took my chances."

Exhaling, irritated, "Well, you are kind of the reason I'm stuck with the crossiant-headed prick and he is stuck with me, so forgive me if I don't seem jolly with you," your face deadpans, "You really have no clue what the hell you did, do you?" The man seems utterly confused - you can see it in those pale eyes of his. He seems guilty as well, as he should be. Though, you still can not help but feel bad for the poor guy. He seems to have been through a lot, and Bendy _did_ just try to kill him on sight, so you do not blame him for being so shaken up and disoriented.

"No...?" He is cautious, staring at you with a confusion that is almost irritating.

"You did some kind of weird voodoo spell that trapped him in a necklace. Only his 'soulmate' can put it on, freeing him to an extent. I put it on and it didn't come off, can't come off, so now me and him are trying to find a way to break him out of it."

"Oh, uh, s-sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

"Uh, maybe read the entire thing next time?" You huff again, your irate mood directed at him this time, rather than the demon in front of you. A tinge of guilt pokes you in the chest, but you are not exactly in the best mood at this present moment, given that you are carrying a dead cat in a bag, you are walking side by side with the guy who got you into this mess, and you just gave up your lunch to the said man. Now your stomach feels empty and it is a pestering bother. Your gauzed wound is also pinchy and irritated, which makes things harder on you, as you have to be careful of your movements as not to reopen it, and Bendy's rough way of getting things accomplished is of no positive contribution.

While walking back to the exit, you see the demon snag what looks to be a cardboard cutout of the toon he claims to be. "Hey, what's with the cutout?"

" **I** **'m taking some with me.** "

"Why?"

He huffs and growls out, " **Stop asking me so many** ** _damn questions_** **.** "

Henry speaks up in a low voice, "They're his eyes and ears. I wouldn't break them if I were you, just incase you don't want to make him mad. I had to do it before for someone even crazier than he is and he chased me through several floors of the studio."

"Crazier than him? Like, the people who _summoned him?_ "

"No, it was someone else. I probably shouldn't mention her- uh, _them_ or it might tick him off."

"You do realize he can hear us, right? It's rude to talk about someone who is listening..."

" **At least you aren't completely brain dead.** " He snarls at Henry before turning his horned head back to his front. His ink seems to rile at the thought of Henry taking him as deaf.

"Uh, I know, the uh, one person I was talking about said he could hear everything in the studio, so he can pretty much hear us if we are right behind him."

"And you are _still_ talking about him like he isn't here. Wonderful. It's a wonder why you aren't lying dead in the lower levels of this place yet." You can faintly hear a hum of agreement from the very demon who would kill him in said levels.

"Jeez, okay..."

The three of us you finally make it to the entrance, Bendy having a good amount of his cutouts snagged into his hold. There are at least more than three - what looks to be five.

_He sure likes those things, huh?_

You look away to see Henry nervously looking down and into the gaping hole. "Just go ahead and jump. Use a little leg power." Your encouragement almost falls on deaf ears, it seems, as he continues to chicken out. While you wait for Henry, Bendy hands you the cutouts, eying you. It seems he has grown to trust you with them. You look up at him, taken a little back by the display of trust. He huffs passively and stomps over to Henry, finally fed up with his chickening out and blocking you from getting to the other side. This chicken does not want to make the cross to get to the other side, it seems.

Bendy picks him up and chucks him, the man landing roughly on the wooden flooring up against the exit door. While the man is groaning from the pain, Bendy walks back up to you, gets behind you, and starts melting into your attire again.

He growls through melting, thick ink, " **Thrœw** **thè** **çūtoûts** **ovêr** **so** **yøu** **çåñ** **jùmp** **açrøss** **,** **bút** **dõñ't** **let** **hīs** **dīrty** **hãñds** **töuçh** **thëm** **.** " You do not know why, but you find yourself smiling that he trusts only you and himself, but none else to handle something that he seems so essential to his feeling of security. Honored, perhaps? He is a demon after all, and from what you have heard, they do not trust very well or easily.

Once your clothing is finally done soaking the tall demon in, you do as he asked, carefully throwing each cutout to the other side. Henry had finally gotten up at this point, looking around for where the demon went. It is funny, watching his obvious confusion. After you have thrown them all over, and the weighted bag, you position yourself before finally making the jump over the gap. You have gotten quite good at it, having landed on your feet without stumbling.

You grab the cardboard cutouts, slipping them into your firm hold and grabbing the bag of...you-know-what as well. " _Where did he go?_ " Henry questions with a look of confusion once again all over his face.

"He sunk into my clothing." He somehow looks even more confused. "It really doesn't matter though. Let's just go. You can sit in the passenger's seat while I strap the cutouts in the back."

*****

On the way home, Henry had realized he did not have any extra clothes with him (and he obviously could not borrow yours), so you had to go into the nearest store that sells clothing after getting his size and buy him a simple t-shirt and jeans, as well as pair of shoes. The shoes were hard to find, but at least you did not have to worry about Bendy being left alone in the vehicle with Henry, since he is soaked into your clothing.

Bendy kept inactive for the most part. The one of two exceptions was when this one guy; who was bald, slightly overweight, and gave off an eerie vibe; got too close for comfort and was giving you creepy looks. You do not know what Bendy did, but you know he did something, because your clothes shifted a bit and suddenly the guy tripped backwards with an extremely confused expression before he got up and fastly walked away in a sluggish fashion with his items he was purchasing. Perhaps he simply got on Bendy's nerves. You are not stupid though - you knew what that man was trying to do. You do not think Bendy tripped him for that reason though, because he probably could not care less. Your speculation is that he just felt like screwing with someone.

The other _exception_ was Bendy purposely knocking your cart over, as you watched a half formed hand of his do so. It startled you at first, but then you just got mad and harshly whispered, " _Stop, it isn't funny. I am_ ** _trying_** _to get this over with._ " Then, you had picked it up only for him to do it again not even a minute later, which lead to the conclusion that he thought it was _hilarious._ You, on the other hand, did not find it funny.....for the most part. Okay, it was actually pretty funny, but you had just really wanted to go home at that point.

By the time you had finished running errands and headed out to your vehicle for the final time, the sky was a navy blue. The smell of the cold air and the faint waft of greasy foods hit your nose like a pleasant aroma. The calming sounds of vehicles and crickets made it all the more soothing, which made the tension from all the things that happened today dissapait. However, you were suddenly pulled from this light trance of serenity by the putrid smell of dead, rotting carcass.

"Ah, the air freshener wore off..." A heavy sigh gusted from your throat as you reluctantly opened the vehicle.

Opening the vehicle door, you see a disgusted Henry pinching his nose. Before he can say anything, you let out an "I know" and take the bag out of the vehicle. Then, you blast the AC and open a second door to let the putrid air out. While the AC vents out the smell, you grab your air freshener and spray down the bag. You finished up with that and hand Henry the bags of shoes, the t-shirt, socks, jeans....and undergarnments. You swear, the cashier gave you a judge filled look when you were paying for the pair.

"You had better pay me back for those....and maybe a bit extra for the weird looks I had to go through to get _those._ " You gesture towards the undergarments, "Oh, and here," you also hand him some Starbucks coffee, "Thought you would need this to keep awake to get yourself prepped for a world of hell from your wife." The lips of your face pull into a devilish grin.

"Oh...thanks. Uh, and yeah, I'll pay you back as soon as possible." He offers a nervous grin in return.

After a minute of sorting through your things, you spray down the inside of the vehicle with air freshener and put the bag back inside before getting in yourself.

. . .

Stepping in the house feels like a huge relief, but now, according to your inner paranoia, you have to keep an eye on Henry and make sure his hands do not get kleptomatic. Your reasonable part of you says nothing will go missing, but, as a detective, you tend to ponder on every possibility.

You point Henry to the shower, tell him how to use it, and regrettably say that he can take as long as he needs to get the ink off of him (your plumbing bill is definitely going up). No doubt his wife would see it if he did not scrub it out...probably when she does with him _you know what._ Oh boy, time to forget that those thoughts ever happened.

Bendy takes the lack of Henry's presence as an opportunity to reform. Once again, ink pools to your feet and to the spot in front of you as he reforms. You await for him to finish, bag of _you-know-what_ and all five cutouts in hand, along with your slung satchet around your shoulder and hanging against your thigh.

When he finally does form, he looks to you. You hand the cutouts to him and he gingerly and quietly takes them. Your paranoia gets the best of you (and you know you are going to regret this, and this is will be an ego boost to him) and you quietly ask him, "Hey...uh, can you keep an eye on the guest? I don't really trust practical strangers in my house..." He grins even bigger than usually, deviously, which indicates that his ego definitely got a boost, and does not give an answer, but rather starts placing the cutouts throughout the house, one in the corner of each room - all but the bathroom, of course (and your room, respectively).

From what you heard from Henry himself, the cutouts being Bendy's eyes and ears, you know what Bendy is doing and that his actions are a big, fat yes to you. He is more than happy to oblige it seems, when it is in some form at Henry's expense. And you do not mind the cutouts, for they seem to keep your paranoia at bay.

When Henry comes back out, he seems to be a lot more healthy. The ink is gone, the fresh clothes fit perfectly, and he is (you dare say) pretty attractive. However, he has a wife, and you are not interested in him. While he may be healthy looking, he also seems to be startled out of his wits, because the first thing he does when he gets out is yelp. Why, you may ask? Well, guess who placed a cutout right across from the bathroom door, so it would be facing real close to him when he came out and peer at him lifelessly?

Bendy.

At least Henry will know he is being watched while he is here, which again, quells your paranoia.

Your laugh is small, but it comes out softly and innocently enough, but you laughing at Henry's misfortune and torment is far from innocent. It is more mean-spirited than anything else. Though, you could not seem to help it or stop yourself from doing so. And now? Bendy has a look that tells you that your laugh just encourages and enables his mean behavior, because he now knows you find it amusing, which means you will be far less likely to stop him. If he can not kill Henry, he can at least make him miserable while he is still in his interactive vicinity.

And who are you to say no? After all, Henry _is_ the reason that you guys are in this situation in the first place. Well, he seems like a good guy and all, but still. You would rather have him out of your house and not stay, and you find Bendy's sadistic yet physically (emphasis on the word physically rather than mentally) harmless tormenting of the guy hilarious. Though, you will not actively encourage it...but you will allow yourself to laugh and will not make any move to stop them, as long as it does not get out of hand and no one gets hurt. It is better to have Bendy torment him than try to kill him, right?

Henry mumbles, "It isn't that funny..." He puts a masculine and freshly cleaned hand to be back of his head and scratches, embarrassed. His avoidance of eye contact is another obvious giveaway.

That was the last opportunity of torment Bendy got though.

After talking to Henry about the allibi (as mentioned, you do not want people to find out about the studio either, mutualistically), he said he would say that he went to go visit someone, could not tell his wife because she was out visiting her friend (a funny coincidence), thought he had left a note but apparently did not, and broke his phone while he was visiting. Funnily enough yet not surprisingly, he did actually break his phone while in the studio.

After that was situated, Henry had left with a slip of paper you gave him - your phone number. No no, it is not of the reason most people would conclude. You have no interest in that man, as stated before. No, you simply want a way of communicating with the only other human alive in this world that knows of Bendy's presence in your life. Henry knows, and once he gets another phone, he can hopefully answer any and all questions you have about the demon (and so you can tell him to pay you back for the clothing and shoes).

Now you sit at your desk in your bedroom, logging down the allibi in Henry's case file, prepping it for Judy. That is, until a lurking presence enters. " **Now it is time for you to** **fufill** **your end of the the deal.** "

A sigh comes from you, "Where would I even find these books you want? And at _this time of night?_ _"_ You give him a glare, "Bendy, I am exhausted. You would have been better off bringing it up when Henry was still here."

He makes no sarcastic remarks, yelling demands, or barking orders, but rather waits a few seconds before speaking up again in the same exact tone of voice, " **Let us start in your human library then....and if that does not work then I will talk to an old...'friend'."**

That caught your attention, as you turn to look at the six to seven foot tall demon with a brow raised. "'Friend'? As in...a demon?" Your mouth goes ajar.

He huffs, " **What else would I mean?** " before trudging off.

Of course, it is to be expected that demons have 'friends' or business buddies (you know what kind of friend he meant by the way he said it), but you still find yourself in awe at the idea and concept. Are you going to meet another demon? Are they passive? What do they look like? All these questions well and swirl in your head like a tide pool. You find yourself excited but....also nervous, and maybe a bit scared as well.

Guess you are going to the library tomorrow. Well, after you turn in your report and get paid of course.

*****

Cold, very cold. Every single time.

Sometimes you hate waking up, because it is cold when you get out of bed and slip from the warm embrace of your bedsheets - it is winter in Brooklyn, New York after all. But when Bendy sinks into your clothing? Even colder. When you just wake up, the last thing you want is the cold to torment your waking body. Of course, the moment you finish getting dressed for the day right after waking up and step out of the your room, he thought it funny to startle you by lunging at you. Of course, he did not actually attack you, for he shifted into just a mass of ink mid air, decomposing his form within a moment's notice. The force of the impact made you stumble though, and he splashed all over you. You swore you could hear laughing before he did it.

Bendy has turned out to be the type who finds scaring people and making things harder on others funny, given him knocking over your cart twice, scaring Henry out of his wits with cutouts his entire stay (but to be fair, you did actually ask him to keep an eye on Henry, which probably gave him the idea of scaring him in the first place), and what he had just done to you this morning. Of course, no one can stand up against him but you, for he could snap you and any other opposer like a human twig. You actually have the guts to get him to stop, and the whole soulmate ordeal hanging over his creasent-shaped head though - an advantage of sorts. If you are being fair however, you find the things he does somewhat funny as well, though less so when he decides you as his victim of torment. Sometimes, you are happy he is a bearer of such humor though, like times when that creepy guy at the store kept staring.

You breathe out a sigh of relief when you finally show up at the door of Judy's office. Now you can get paid, and perhaps get another commission to work on while you sort out this whole soulmate ordeal.

Opening the door, you are greeted by your boss a little too eagerly. "Ah, _____. Just the woman I have been needing. Have a seat, will you?" You pull out one of the two chairs that lie on the other side of her desk and take your seat. "I see you have returned with Henry's file... I got a call saying that he came back home last night. The wife was very pleased."

Your lips pull into a smile, "Yep. I have the report right here." You slide it across her desk and she takes it, opening a drawer out of sight and sticking it in before closing it with a thud.

"You are in luck, _____. I got a call this morning of a suicide. However, our investigators do not think it is what it seems, and they have reason to believe it was a homacide. I want you to head over there and have a look. Here is the address." She scribbles down some information on a blank sheet of paper and slides it over to you. "I hope you are able to come to a sensible conclusion. There is contradicting evidence and two of the investigators were bickering over the phone. As you could imagine, I don't exactly have time for such idiocrity..."

 _Ah, she hung up on them again, didn't she?_ You hold back a grin.

"I won't disappoint you."

"Good, I expect as much from you. Now get going." She slides you an envelope - the commission payment.

You take the money and get up from your seat, closing the door behind you. You head over to your work desk to check up on some things, but lady luck seems to lack in presence today, because the blonde headed idiot is there waiting for you. You sigh and roll your eyes. "What do you want?"

"Just to check up on my coworker. Whatcha up to?" He has his mug with his collection of pens in it, swirling them around, which produces an obnoxious noise.

"None of your damn buisness." You growl as your nose twitches in frustration.

"Oooh, someone is in a bad mood today." He blocks you from leaving with a simple few steps of his boots. "So, you got done with a case? Have any free time?"

"No, _now move it._ "

"Come on, don't be like that. Just wanted to hang out." His face furrows and he seems to pout.

"Well I don't, so get out of my way or I _will_ report you."

"Sure you will, and Judy won't think that you just want my case."

"The case you aren't working on? Oh yes, she will _love_ to hear why you are preventing me from working on mine instead of working on yours. And while a serial killer is out there and still taking innocent lives too? You really are fucked in the head, aren't you?" At this point, you notice Angela peeking from over one of the cubical walls with a pitying look on her face. Her feeling for you and the dilemma you are in is appreciated - she knows what you go through and why you like to work anywhere but at this place. He is one of the the main reasons you are a house hermit detective rather than a workplace cruiser detective.

"Are you kidding me? Can't a guy have a break from his case every once in a while?"

"You mean constant breaks around my desk, waiting for me to walk in so you can pester me instead of working? Yeah, sure."

He steps towards you with a nasty look, "If you-" And then, all of his ink pens in his ugly white mug explode into his face. You step back after flinching a bit, while Angela seems to hold a hand to her face and laugh. " _Agh_ _! My eyes!!"_ Derrel hisses, bringing his hands to his ink covered face, his eyes squinted shut. He drops his mug in the process, it going to the floor and breaking into dozens of large chunks and small bits of ceramic glass.

You make no move to help the man, but rather, let your eyes absorb the information of what just happened and your brain connect the dots. He got on your nerves, started getting agressive after what you said in response and made a moves towards you, and then his **_ink_** pens exploded right in his face - all of them. None of it got on you. All of it went to his face, and some got in his eyes. You are not stupid, and you grin from ear to ear once you finally put the pieces together. Good to know at least _someone_ has your back (or maybe just thought that it would be funny again).

You chuckle a bit, which of course Derrel hears while he does not hear Angela's loud giggling, because he starts yelling, "Yeah! Laugh it _off!_ While I have chemicals in my eyes too!!" Just to spite him, you laugh louder. Angela comes over in a quick fashion, hips swaying as she walks up beside you and looks down at the blonde hissing from the pitch black liquid chemicals burning his eyes and staining his face.

"Karma is a bitch, ain't she?" A groan comes from him in response to your retort.

"Shut the hell up!" You smirk.

Angela looks to you with the first nasty smile you have ever seen on here face. "I already know where you are heading. If you want, I can deal with this for you, not that it was your problem to begin with or anything..."

"Yeah, thanks Angela. I'll see you next time I am back here?" She nods.

You start walking off and Derrel gets mad and hisses, "Walk away and I'll tell Judy..."

"Pff- what are you, five?" You don't get to finish your nasty remarks because Angela cuts in and gives you a look that says "knock it off."

"If you go and complain to Judy about anything, I'll tell her about how you treat your female coworker here and your slacking off, as well as your lack of progress, and you'll get booted out the door. So go on ahead, and we'll get to see how kindly Judy treats guys who go around and harass her female employees." She crosses her arms and you smile even wider. "Now, do you want help or not?"

"Tch, _fine._ " His eyes remain shut as he groans in pain. She helps him up after shooing you to go off and do your work. The smile across your face can not get any wider as you mouth the words 'thank you'.

You start heading out to your vehicle and mutter, "Sorry Bendy, looks like we are going to have to postpone the library. I've got another case on my hands that requires my immediate attention." As soon as you unlock your vehicle and get in, ink pools from your legs and you are confused as to why he is reforming in such a public setting, until you find him reforming in the shadows of the back of your vehicle, where tinted windows keep outsider's from peering nosily into your buisness.

" **It's fine...** " His grin seems to be wider than usual and slightly malicious, and you know exactly why that is.

"Oh, and uh," you start the vehicle, igniting it with the turn of your keys, "thanks for what you did back there..." The engine roars and you pull out of your parking spot and drive off, heading for the address. You already know where it is - you pass through that street on your way to work all the time, for the road through there is quicker.

" **He was irritating and I was sick of him clinking his pens around in that scribbled-on mug of his. He was also approaching with a hostile face...and I didn't like his** ** _expression._** " The demon growls hostilly from the shade of the inside of the vehicle, in the back where no one else would be able to see him, except for you. His ink blends in with the shade easily.

"Tell me about it - I was hoping something would happen to his _'precious'_ pen collection." You breathe out an irritated sigh. "It annoys me how he always swirls them around in that stupid mug of his..."

Bendy seems to grin wider and rests his head on the cushioned shoulder of your driver's seat. " **I could kill him, you know. You wouldn't have to pay me back or owe me anything, and I would make sure nobody finds his body.** "

"Oh my- no! _No_. Very funny, _Bendy_. Just because someone pisses me off doesn't mean I want them dead..." Your eyes maintain contact with the road in front of the you, one of your hands moving to push his face back into the darkness behind your seat. He finds your response amusing, as his grinning face tells, but lets you push him back anyway and leaves the subject of murder alone.

" **Your loss.** "

"No, not my loss. No one needs to die, you trigger happy sadist." He chuckles while sinking back further into the darkness. "Anyway, you mentioned a quote on quote 'friend'?" You make quotation marks with the fingers of one of your hands before wrapping it back around the steering wheel. "I have a lot of questions... What are they like, for starters? Are they going to ask for my _soul_ or something?"

" **No...he does not care much for those kinds of deals. He is...** **mmm** **..** _ **bored.**_ **He wants something to do. He likes to keep himself busy.** " Bendy seems like a different person when talking about serious, yet casual subjects like these. Like he is an intelligent demon with some anger and mischief to him. He can definitely be mature, you believe he just gets bored, especially when he has to follow _you_ around all day while you do _nothing._

"Wait, how _old_ is he?"

" **Old - thousands. Much older than me and you.** "

"How old are you?"

" **Older than you, that's for sure..... Stop giving me weird looks. I don't keep track.** " The "weird looks" he is referencing is the frustration of you thinking that he is dodging the question on your face (he probably is not though, for he definitely does not seem like he cares for age at all). From what you can see of your face in the mirror, you look a bit constipated. Embarrassed from realizing this, you look away as your face heats up a bit. " **Probably a couple centuries...** _ **sure feels like it**_ **...what year is it?** "

"Oh, uh, the beginning of twenty-twenty?"

" **Then around two and a half centuries.** " You are in awe at his answer. That means he was around before Adolf Hitler, for slavery, before WWII, and much more.

The other questions you want to ask are going to have to be put on halt, because the two of you are almost there. "Hey, Bendy? We're almost there." He looks to you and you watch from the mirror as he melts down and to the floor, out of your sight. Feeling something crawl up your leg, you shiver but refuse to make any noise, knowing it is only him as your clothes start to get more damp and heavy.

By the time he finishes and you no longer feel living, thick ink slithering all over you, you arrive at the destination. It is easy to spot - police cars are parked as well as the vehicles of the particular investigators Judy was talking about, and there is police tape around. You have had a few run-ins with the two knuckleheads during cases, and they have been pretty entertaining to watch bicker with one another. They were always at each other's throats over possibilities, but, in the end, they were great partners and somewhat swell buddies.

"Boy, are you going to like this case Bendy, so don't you worry about being bored." You mutter,

_"Things are going to get a lot more interesting..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it is taking so long to upload chapters from Wattpad, I have a lot of stuff in real life to deal with and editing chapters is tedious.

**Author's Note:**

> I have come over from Wattpad with my stories so I can upload them on Archive of Our Own as well. I already have written a bunch of chapters that are already uploaded on Wattpad, but I am editing them to fix mistakes and tweak a few things before uploading here. I'm going to be editing each chapter and uploading them here, and when I am done I am going to work on the next chapter that I haven't finished yet and upload it on both platforms at the same time. I have two others stories that I need to revise and edit first before I upload them on here too. Feel free to comment. I love reading people's comments. I also love constructive criticism, so feel free to share your thoughts.


End file.
